


Marisela

by Anonymous



Category: Knight & Rogue - Hilari Bell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:30:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: Fisk/Michael. Law enforcement!AU where Fisk and Michael go undercover as a couple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Technical note: This is merely the first installment of an unknown number of installments. -Aline

"I believe in two things, and two things only. One, my own ability to save our sorry asses when a job goes bad."

Normally, when Judith gets in one of these moods following a mission, Michael spends the entire trip home glaring at inanimate objects and attempting to ignore her. After the wild success of this particular assignment, however, her voice almost sounds fond as she berates him. He smiles as he slides the key card into the lock.

"Two," she continues airily as they enter the room. "Your singular ability to always surprise me."

Fisk looks up from behind a computer screen. “That almost sounded like a compliment,” he says warily. “What happened with you two?”

"We’re bonding," Michael tells him, feeling pleased by the thought. After four years, Judith may finally be warming to him.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself," she warns, dumping a large weapons bag on the nearest bed. "Usually I’m just surprised at the new level of lunacy you achieve."

Fisk isn’t listening, though, because he’s just caught sight of Rudy behind them.

"What the hell," bites Fisk, rushing over and angling Rudy’s face to assess the damage. "Rosa is going to kill you two. Scratch that, I’m going to kill you."

Blushing, Rudy ducks away from Fisk’s inspection and heads for the bathroom, mumbling, “It’s not that bad, I’m fine,” on the way.

"He’s fine," agrees Judith, not sounding guilty in the slightest. "He did great for a fledge."

"Coming back with a purple face is not fine," hisses Fisk, getting in Michael’s space.

Michael winces, but doesn’t back down. “No, but he took the same training we did. He knew what he was getting into.” He drops his voice. “And we’re not going to treat him like he’s any more fragile than the rest of us.”

"This isn’t about how fragile he is, Michael. It’s about how our jobs never go according to plan!" He glares at Michael. "This always happen when you two get a mission together. You’re both so ready to jump into action, heedless of the risks!"

"We didn’t have a choice—"

"You were out of radio contact for six hours—"

"Fisk." Judith’s voice cuts in sternly. She’s giving Fisk a pointed look. "The job was successful. We’re all back in one piece. Just because you hate waiting for news doesn’t mean you get to take it out on us."

She says ‘us’ but it’s pretty clear she means Michael, considering Fisk rarely shouts at anyone else.

Michael’s work cell rings and Fisk stomps back to his computer as Michael answers.

A mechanical voice says, “Drop time 2:33 PM. 38818824 -90897461.” The line clicks dead.

They may have only just finished a job, but Michael still feels a little bubble of excitement every time he hears that beautiful, robotic sound. “Pack up, team,” he says, ignoring Fisk’s heavy sigh. “We’ve got another mission.”

—-

"Tell me again why they can’t just tell us to head to the nearest privileged asshole hangout?"

Judith is eyeing the country club with distaste while Fisk hunts down the payphone. Michael shrugs. “Protocol. Tradition. HQ is never going to change. Besides, you know Fisk loves this code stuff.”

"It’s literally just coordinates, Michael. Anyone with a brain could figure that out."

He shrugs again. Judith may be right, but Michael likes how excited Fisk gets about the secretive aspect of their work, even if some of it is outdated. Rudy, Fisk, and Judith wait nearby, trying to look casual, while Michael listens to the mission recording. Afterward, while the phone booth is still smoking, Michael takes a good, long look at his crew.

Fisk steps closer, watching him quizzically. “It’s a big one, isn’t it? You’re getting that crazy light in your eyes that means I’m in for a lot of sleepless nights.”

Michael attempts to tamp down a grin. He fails. “Come on, squire. We have a flight to catch!”

—-

Fisk ignores him on the drive to the airport, because he isn’t fond of the nickname he had been dubbed with when they first teamed up. Usually he just retaliates with a scathing Noble Sir, Michael’s own dreaded title, but he appears to still be miffed from their earlier fight. No matter, Michael has calls to make.

Rosa’s working with another team in Detroit; over the phone she sounds tired, but happy. Michael assures her she can provide them the necessary assistance long-distance, which she’s not happy about when she learns they’ll be heading to Florida. She tells him to video conference her when they land and he winces, thinking about the purple mark on Rudy’s face.

Kathy isn’t as thrilled about the location— _it’s miles of bugs, tourists, and retirees, Michael_ —but Michael only has to utter one name to have her booking the next flight out.

"Okay," bursts Fisk when they’ve boarded the private jet, breaking his silence at long last. "You’ve called in the science division and an identity expert. What exactly are we doing this time?

“You can’t wait for me to debrief the entire team when we make it to Florida?”

“You have that look about you, Michael. Like you’re about to get us tangled in something really dangerous.”

“HQ sends the missions, Fisk,” tries Michael, but Fisk isn’t interested.

“And if you think for one second I’m staying at base for this one, you’re wrong. If we send you and Judith in together again, the rest of us will be putting out ‘help wanted’ signs by next month.”

Michael really doesn’t think that’s fair, but Fisk had once told him that Michael would be dead within a month without his guidance, so this is simply par for the course. Michael considers holding his silence for about ten more seconds, but he’s really far too excited.

"You all know the story of Tony Rose, yes?"

"Of course," pipes Judith, from the other side of the aisle. "The son of the most feared criminal in the eastern United States. When Tony Rose Sr. died, everyone knew he had a child, but somehow the son’s identity has been kept a secret. The person acting as the face of Tony Rose Jr. is just that—a face."

"Yes, but the mysterious child is still running things impeccably, even through a monkey."

Michael smiles at his team. “Yes. And we’re going to take him down.”

—-

"Wait," says Fisk, hours later, when they’re all tired and grubby from travel. Everyone else has slumped onto the nearest piece of furniture, but Fisk is pacing. "So HQ has a way to positively ID Tony Rose, if we can get a DNA swab. And we can get close enough to do that because we know, whoever he may be, he will be on a cruise ship in four weeks’ time. A cruise ship that we can get cabins on because…"

"An inside source," recites Michael wearily. "Undercover. He’s getting us into an exclusive party hosted by Rose two nights from now, where Rose will be gifting the partiers with tickets to the cruise."

"Ah yes, I love when HQ sends us ‘undercover’ agents. Always so reliable."

Judith and Rudy groan in synchronization. “Come on Fledge,” Judith says as she pushes off the bed. “You and I can take the other room. I’m not listening to one more HQ rant tonight.”

"Right behind you," mumbles Rudy, stumbling through the door to the attached room and shutting it firmly behind him.

—

To Michael’s endless delight, Kathy followed him right into the spy business several years ago and never looked back. She has quite a reputation in her division for merging technology and biology seamlessly. Michael didn’t even need to request she be pulled in for this job—HQ insisted. Of course, she also enjoys the espionage side of things, so when she arrives with five suitcases, likely full of gadgets that Michael would have no idea how to use, Kathy declares that she wants to be in the field this time around.

"Okay," Michael says loudly, when it looks like she’s about to start listing all the reasons why. "You’re in. Our source could only got us three tickets to the party, so that means—"

"Me." Fisk’s voice brokers no arguments. "Judith and Rudy had their fun; it’s my turn."

"You barely even like field work," argues Rudy.

Judith snorts. “Don’t let him fool you, fledge. Fisk only complains about it so much because he doesn’t want Michael to know he’s enjoying himself.”

This isn’t news to Michael, but Fisk glares at Judith as if she was revealing his deepest of secrets.

"I already planned on Fisk, anyway," Michael tells them. "This is undercover work—no one is better suited. Now everyone get some sleep, we have a party to prepare for."

Kathy high-fives Fisk and then dumps the contents of her first suitcase on the nearest bed. “Now that’s settled, who wants to help me find my toothbrush in this mess?”

—-

Michael steps out of his taxi, fidgeting with his tie. He can still hear his father’s voice telling him to stop touching it Michael, just leave it alone, but the memory isn’t enough to stay his hands. The night air is too humid to be wearing a full suit; already Michael can feel his undershirt catching and sticking to his skin. Ahead, the mansion looms like a hungry predator, big enough to swallow several hundred people whole. Good thing, too, as according to their source, Tony Rose has invited that many people and more to the celebration.

Until this moment, Michael has been riding high on being handed such a high profile case. Now it’s finally sinking in that they’re trying to take down Tony Rose. The Tony Rose. The Tony Rose who has made hundreds of people disappear over the last year alone. The Tony Rose who somehow manages to live like a beloved celebrity in the eyes of rich and elite he’s ‘friends’ with. The Tony Rose who may very well be using this cruise as a cover-up for a business deal that will result in the ‘hundreds’ of missing people turning into ‘thousands’.

Michael clears his throat.

_Do you read me, Apollo?_   The microscopic earpiece transmits Judith’s voice quietly, but clear.

"Read you, Nemesis."

_Better get moving. Hephaestus’s taxi is just outside the gates._

Michael starts walking. “Thetis?”

Fisk’s voice replaces Judith’s in his ear. _In the left wing._

He heads for the doors, where a short line has formed. Michael can see that each guest is being scanned for weapons, but it appears that they’re also being given something before they move through to the party.

"Ticket," says a butler, holding out his hand. He scans Michael’s ticket, the little machine giving a cheery beep to confirm that it is legitimate. "Are you stag tonight, sir?"

"Yes," says Michael, surprised.

The man hands him a beautiful bracelet, thick and dark as coal. “A gift from Mr. Rose. He requests that you wear it this evening.”

Michael allows the bracelet to be clasped on his wrist, wondering why the Rose would bother handing out jewelry to the guests at this particular gathering. As far as Michael’s research showed, they were all already filthy rich.

When he has finally been swept inside, he lets himself get swallowed by the crowd and whispers, “Thetis, did you get a bracelet?”

_Yeah. Not sure what it’s for yet. Is yours black too? I see some people wearing gold._

Fisk is right. Michael can see a smattering of gold wristed individuals. “Black, yes. Could it be a show of wealth?”

_Why? We already know he’s loaded._

_Or maybe it’s poisoned and we’ll all be dead in an hour._ Kathy pitches this like an exciting outcome.

Michael eyes his bracelet warily. “Do you think that’s possible, Hephaestus?”

_Unlikely. I looked mine over; nothing about it screams ‘evil’._

_Nemesis, please quote her at our funerals._

They confirm Kathy has been gifted a black one as well, but eventually they stop focusing on the bracelets and start trying to spot their marks in the crowd. It’s a difficult task, considering the endless rooms they need to search, each with dozens of servants lining the walls. But HQ has given them five top suspects for who the actual Tony Rose may be, and they need to learn as much as possible about each before the cruise.

An hour later, they’ve learned that two of them appear to be absent from the mansion. One left early. The other two are situated on an upper balcony, sipping wine and playing cards with faux-Rose’s wife, a reedy looking woman with short white hair and a smoker’s laugh. Her companions contrast her nicely, both beefy and dark haired.

Michael is still searching for the missing two, when the crowd begins to hush and several TVs placed around the rooms stop playing bizarre music videos and instead show the main ballroom, where Michael first entered the building. Centered on the screen is the one and only faux-Rose.

"Please," booms the Rose, palms out towards the crowd. "Your attention for just a few moments! I ask that you find the party you arrived with and stick close. We’ve come to the main event of the evening!"

The number of servants lined against the walls have doubled, each now holding a stack of envelopes and a small electronic device.

"As you all know, tonight I will be unveiling my newest acquisition: The Marisela!" The televisions switch to a night shot of a beautiful ship, lights twinkling merrily from each of the many cabin windows. "She was built in Spain and transported here only weeks ago, so that I might share her with all of my closest friends. This will be a cruise for the ages!"

Michael hears a soft snort in his ear. _Closest friends my ass._

On the balcony, Tony Rose adopts a regretful expression. “Now, I only have 100 available cabins. Many of you have been speculating on how I will choose who will receive these exclusive invitations. I will let you know now that the process has already taken place.”

People around Michael begin murmuring, almost drowning out the confused exclamations coming from his team.

"Don’t feel discouraged if you don’t receive a ticket tonight," Rose continues, in that charming voice of his. "This cruise is for a specific clientele. The rest of you will get your chance, I promise you that. For tonight, however, we have preselected those to receive invitations. My servants will be coming around now to hand you yours, if you qualified. Do not try to argue with them, please. The decision is not in their hands."

_Preselected?_ Kathy bursts in his ear. _Based on what?_

The line is suddenly heavy with voices, Kathy and Judith both talking furiously.

_We weren’t warned about this_ , hisses Judith.

_The informant must not have known_ , comes Kathy’s strained voice. _We were told that the Rose has been acting erratically. He suspects a mole._

_We need those invitations. We’ll miss our chance if we don’t do this now. Who are they handing them to? Maybe you’ll get one by chance. It could be random._

_They’ve already passed me by_ , says Kathy, panicked now.

_Could we steal them? Thetis, could we steal a few?_

_Too risky. They’re entering information for the recipients as they hand out the tickets. They’ll know the tickets were stolen; we’ll stick out like a sore thumb come boarding time._

“It’s not random.” Michael, who is watching the servants carefully as he edges to the back of the room, speaks rapidly. “It’s the bracelets. They’re only giving out tickets to people with gold bracelets.”

_Rose said ‘specific clientele’_ , whispers Kathy. _Was that just a lie? Did he have the bracelets handed out randomly?_

_No he didn’t_ , cuts in Fisk, sounding breathless and a little smug. It’s his ‘I’ve figured it out’ voice. Michael knows it well.

Judith shouts through the connection, demanding answers, but Fisk ignores her.

“Thetis?” murmurs Michael.

_Silence_. Judith says, _His heartbeat has picked up. I think he’s on the move._

So are the servants. Rose runs a well-oiled household. The servants are working their way through the crowd efficiently. They’ll be at Michael in minutes. Already one with slick, jet black hair has glanced at him and then let her eyes slide past, probably noticing the black bracelet on his arm.

Mind racing for a solution and voices still hissing furiously in his ear, Michael almost jumps when a cold hand slides into his. The bracelet on his wrist is jostled, and when Michael glances down, he sees that he’s wearing a gold band now, instead of black.

"There you are!" Fisk’s voice carries through the room, sounding fondly annoyed, as if chastising a favorite pet. He stumbles into Michael a bit and laughs, too loud. "I told you to get us more drinks, babe, not disappear for half an hour!"

Some of the people around them have taken notice, including the dark-haired servant. Michael steadies Fisk, trying to catch up. “Seems like you found the drinks even without my assistance.”

Fisk scrunches his nose and swats Michael playfully. “What are you doing on this side of the party, anyway? Found another hot young number to take my place?”

"Never, dear," replies Michael with a long-suffering sigh, hoping he doesn’t sound as wrong-footed as he feels.

"Did you get our tickets? We did get tickets didn’t we?" Fisk twirls eagerly, seeming to scan the crowd. He points at the nearby servant. "You, ma’am, did my boyfriend get our tickets? He’s a hopeless case without me."

Fisk giggles and Michael grimaces. Fisk is playing the drunk, embarrassing date, so Michael needs to be his foil. “Sweetheart, Mr. Rose said not everyone would be getting tickets.”

He plays at getting Fisk’s attention by grabbing his shoulders and turning him, but really it’s an excuse to flash the gold in the servant’s direction. If they’re lucky, the woman will assume it was a trick of the light that had him passing Michael only moments before.

There’s a collective sigh in his ear piece when the servant approaches them with a curt, “Apologies. It seems I do have tickets for you.”

She hands them a slim eggshell envelope and holds up the digital device, entering their data before moving on.

Kathy sighs. _At this rate, I won’t get a field job until I’m forty._

—-

"You just love challenging me, don’t you?"

Michael thinks Rosa might have been aiming for annoyed, but she sounds far too excited to pull it off. “Sorry Rosa. It was the best we could do under the circumstances. Can you pull it off in the timeframe? The ship sets sail in a week.”

Rosa’s hand appears in front of the computer camera and she begins to count off fingers. “You want me to set up a fake background for Fisk, a fake background for you, and build a foundation for your epic love story so the goons on Tony Rose’s ship buy that you’re a couple, all in seven days?”

"…yes?"

"Done." Michael grins at her. "But I can only get you halfway. You two are going to have to pull of acting like a couple, Michael. Do you think you can do that?”

"I have to."

"That’s not good enough, Michael. We all know your skill for lying is subpar. I’ll get this done for you, but you have to promise to practice with him, okay? Promise."

"Yes, Rosa," Michael tells her, wondering why she looks so giddy. "We’ll practice, alright?"

"Couply stuff. Holding hands. Saying sweet things."

Michael snorts. “Sure thing.”

"Good. I’ll have the profiles to you in 48 hours."

—-

"Alright fledge. Let’s do this quick. In and out."

_Why do I have the same codename every time?_ whispers Rudy through the headset. He’s slipping along the outskirts of the dock, avoiding light posts and heading for the Marisela. _Everyone else gets to choose theirs._

"Because you’re the baby," Judith tells him, scanning the footage that Rudy’s goggles are broadcasting. "Now get in the water, we have some cameras to fry."

Kathy had spewed excited mumbo-jumbo about how the device would screw with Tony Rose’s surveillance cameras, allowing Fisk and Michael to use the area where it’s planted in the ship as a communication center without their enemies being aware anything is amiss. Michael had strained doggedly to keep up with the jargon. He’s been getting better with the tech side of his job, ever since he started spending off weeks hanging around Kathy’s office and sleeping on her couch, but it’s still not a strong area for him. At this point, he’s confident enough in her abilities to shove any worry about how the gadget will work and concentrate on just getting it to its destination without tipping off the mark.

He would much rather be the one on the ground, planting the device, but he has learned to accept that delegation is a better mark of leadership than demanding he do everything himself. Besides, Rudy is a far more agile at running, climbing, and swimming than he, so it’s only natural that he be sent for this mission instead.

Regardless of his ‘fledge’ status, Rudy performs flawlessly. There’s a tense moment when Rudy is almost discovered by a shipyard guard, but he manages to evade being seen, and Fisk rests a hand on Michael’s arm until he stops clenching his fist hard enough to hurt. All in all, it’s a rousing success.

They swing by Kathy’s lab to give her the good news, and so Fisk can plop her favorite Thai takeout in front of her monitor. She’s ecstatic about both, though more so about the latter it seems to Michael.

In words garbled by Pad Thai, Kathy explains how they are going to be able to determine who the real Tony Rose is while on the cruise.

"It’s not much to look at," she says, handing Michael a small rectangle that appears nearly identical to a flash drive. "But it’ll get the job done. What you do is get a good sample of the suspect’s saliva, dab it on the end, there,"—she points at a red strip—"and plug it into the computer. It’ll transmit to me here at the lab, I’ll run the necessary tests, and be able to let you know if the match is positive within 24 hours."

"Can it be done any faster?" wonders Fisk.

“Not if you want actual results instead of just my wild conjectures."

Fisk argues this point a bit longer, but Kathy quickly grows weary of the exchange and beings to ignore him. She, Judith, and Michael chat a bit longer, Kathy double-checks that they’re all planning on pre-mission dinner the following evening, and then her lab mate shows up and shoos them out of his ‘intellectual space’.

—

Traffic is light back to the hotel, and Michael relaxes behind the wheel, soothed by the low rumble of the machine around him. Having a sense of purpose always puts him at ease, and this job certainly has a purpose. In the backseat, Judith and Fisk are bickering, a sound which has become as familiar to Michael as the hum of the engine.

"So that’s it?" says Judith, sounding deeply unimpressed. "You just have to get a sample of their saliva and we’re good to go?"

"The saliva of several of the most prominent members of possibly the most dangerous crime syndicate on the east coast."

Michael can hear her rolling her eyes. “You always get the easy gigs,” she harrumphs.

"Easy?" Fisk’s voice is rising, like it always does when he’s settling into an argument he intends to win. Kathy’s refusal to engage has left him akin to a ticking bomb. "It’s a week-long undercover op in the middle of the ocean, where we will have no immediate back-up or consistent radio contact. We have to get spit samples from dangerous criminals and send them back to land, all without being noticed, on a ship that will likely be covered in guards and cameras. If we fail, the consequences will catastrophic. Oh, and did I mention? Michael and I have to pretend to be madly in love during the entire thing."

"Yeah," snorts Rudy, who until now had been keeping quiet in the passenger seat. "Like that will be the hard part."

An awkward silence descends in the vehicle. Michael resists the urge to swallow, as he’s sure it will be audible, and keeps his eyes on the road. He’s very busy driving.

Uncertainly, Rudy clears his throat and adds, “Being on a paid cruise for a week? Sounds like a dream to me.”

"That’s not true," says Michael, latching onto the comment and steering the conversation in a safer direction. "Fisk hates the open water."

Judith jumps in. “Yes, what was it you hated much as a kid? Orcas?”

"I do not hate orcas. They are massive, amazing, terrifying creatures and I respect the fact that they have the power to kill me if they so choose by staying far away from their territory."

"There aren’t any orcas near Florida," says Rudy, confused.

—-

At the last minute, Rudy begs off the pre-mission dinner, claiming he is going to skype Rosa all evening. Fifteen minutes after the wine arrives at the table, Kathy and Judith head for the restroom, Kathy shooting a beaming smile towards Michael and Fisk as she leaves the table. Twenty minutes later, the food arrives. Two meals, not the four they had ordered. Fisk sighs loudly.

“They’re not coming back.”

Michael, who had been contemplating how glad he was that Fisk had chosen the purple vest tonight, starts with, “Maybe Kathy got a call from HQ—“

“And ditched with no word? With Judith in tow? Face it, Noble Sir, we’ve been duped.”

“For what reason?”

Fisk raises his eyebrows and gestures around them. “We’re surrounded by couples. There are candles on the tables. Operatic love songs are playing in the background.”

He has a point. “I suppose this is their way of saying that we haven’t been training well enough for this job.”

Fisk doesn’t sound entirely certain when he says, “Yeah, must be that.”

Michael shrugs. He picks up his silverware. “Their loss. Do you want some of this ravioli?”

With Michael being so blasé about their abandonment, Fisk seems to relax, going so far as to grace Michael with a spectacularly sunny smile when they’ve both had a bit of wine and Michael attempts to tell a ‘what’s the difference between…’ joke—a job which should be left to Fisk exclusively.

It hits him hard, the smile, making him shiver despite how warm and happy he feels right now.

They take their time finishing dinner. The sky is black when they leave, even though this is summer in Florida, where the sun seems to never set. The cab smells like mold and sweat, but Michael can hardly care with Fisk pressed to his side.

Their room is far too cold when they return; Fisk hates nothing more when staying at a hotel than the staff adjusting dials in his room. Michael heads straight for the A/C, goose bumps rising on his skin as he goes. The goose bumps remind him of earlier in the night, when Fisk had given him that bright smile.

Fisk is booting up his beloved laptop, but Michael suddenly needs his attention again, needs it like a moth needs a flame, deadly and irresistible. When he drags Fisk from the device, Fisk resists at first, until Michael has a firm grip on his shoulders and has pulled them face to face, inches apart.

"Listen," says Michael, shaky at first. "I need to kiss you."

Fisk takes in a loud breath, jerking back minutely.

"I mean—if you’ll let me. For the act. If we’re going to pull this off, I’m going to need to kiss at least once."

Fisk, whose cheeks had gone a ruddy pink, asks why in an almost whine, looking for all the world like he wants to break from Michael’s hold and throw himself out the window.

"Because I can’t have our first kiss be for show," Michael tells him, depressed now at how obviously Fisk wants to not be doing this, but powering through. "I’m not a good actor, as you so often remind me."

"You’re better than you used to be," mumbles Fisk, staring somewhere near Michael’s left ear.

Michael smiles faintly. It is a significant compliment coming from Fisk, who is an ardent believer in tough love, at least where Michael is concerned. “Do this for me? Please?”

Fisk sighs, catching Michael’s eye and then looking away. After chewing on his lip for an agonizing few seconds, he finally nods sharply. It is barely a thing, but it’s the best Michael is going to get apparently. Slowly he steps closer, using a knuckle under Fisk’s chin to gently tip his face away from the floor and up to Michael’s own. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, brushing his thumb softly over Fisk’s jaw as he does. Michael is surprised that Fisk hasn’t called him out on the glacial pace yet, but Fisk appears to be holding his breath, arms limp at his sides. Michael dips in.

It is warm, in contrast to the air, and sweet, Fisk making some sort of nearly inaudible noise when their mouths meet. Michael adjusts once, to get Fisk’s top lip between his, and for a brief, exquisite moment Fisk’s hands are touching him, fisted in the material of his shirt and locking them together. But they drop as quickly as they appeared, and Michael takes it as a cue, fighting the temptation to land just one more kiss as he pulls back.

The temptation is even worse when he gets a good look at Fisk, who is blinking a little blearily at Michael, hands still partially raised as though he has forgotten about them. Instead Michael whispers a _thanks_ , breaking the spell, and watches as Fisk flees from the room like a bat out of hell.

—

Michael can hardly sleep. It’s always like this the night before a high-stakes jobs. Give him a run-of-the-mill assignment and he’ll sleep like a baby. He’s clacking away at his laptop, squinting at the bright screen doggedly, when Fisk—who has been gone from the room since the incident earlier—appears at his side and shuts the screen, not removing his hand from the device.

"To bed, Michael," he says firmly.

Michael attempts to open his monitor again. Fisk doesn’t budge.

"To bed," he repeats. "We’ll be sharing one starting tomorrow. Enjoy your last night of freedom."

After dumping this thought on Michael, he sweeps the laptop off the bed, curling the power cord up as he goes, and tosses boxers in Michael’s direction. Michael looks down to realize he is still wearing his dress pants. He changes silently, slips under the covers, and then stares at the ceiling for a few endless hours, trying valiantly not to imagine Fisk in the bed beside him.

—


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a playlist for this fic now. http://8tracks.com/mod-aline/marisela -Aline

"This is as far as I can take you," says Kathy, with a grimace.

She then plunges into a recap on the technology she's wired them up to – they can't go in with mics, not on a mission like this, so they have to stick to pre-established code language on civilian cell phones, and bio-sensing devices that send a signal if a sufficient pain response is detected – they've been calibrated to Michael and Fisk's specific responses, to avoid conflation with pleasure responses.

Michael kisses his sister's forehead, when she's starting to just ramble about safe guards and emergencies to stall time instead of actually volunteering useful information. "We have to go," he tells her.

She slides out of the driver's seat as he and Fisk unpack the car and waits there.

She hugs Fisk. He tucks his chin against her shoulder briefly, and then steps away.

"Oh, I wish I could come with you."

Fisk is already in character as 'Tristan', apparently. "This cruise is my consolation prize for being stuck with your brother," he says.

There was no point, Rose had said, in picking another person to be the one to drop them off. Kathy could play Michael's loving sister just as well on the mission as she did in real life. So she was Molly, Nick's sister, who was there to drop off her brother and his boyfriend.

"Your fault, for dating the wrong O'Hara," she tells him, and reaches up to ruffle Michael's hair.

Michael is suddenly, embarrassingly glad that he's not going to be back at mission control watching Fisk and Kathy play the sickeningly sweet couple.

"Well," Kathy says, "you two have fun being sickeningly cute, I'm going to have fun not having to put up with your teeth-rotting nonsense."

She waves, one last time, and then slides into the car and pulls away.

"Right," says Fisk, looking up at the cruise ship. "Time to go."

Unfortunately, Fisk's nerves build as they wait in line, and by the time they get anywhere near the ship, he's twitchier than a cat at the vet.

“Stop fidgeting, Fisk.” Fisk pauses long enough to glare at Michael. “And stop being irritated with me, if that’s even possible. We’re meant to be excited and in love. You’re acting as though you’re the one who didn’t get sleep last night.”

Fisk gives him a simpering smile and drifts closer to whisper sweet nothings in his ear such as, “I can’t believe we’re actually going to try and pull off this lame-brain stunt,” and “If you can’t remember to call me Tristan by now, I may as well throw myself off the ship, save Rose the trouble.”

Michael is fairly certain that at this point he can remember to use the names chosen as their fake identities. After all, Rosa had made him promise to practice, and for better or worse, Michael had tried. Fisk is, unquestionably, the better actor of the two, but he’s shown hesitation on the couple ruse, leaving Michael to initiate any 'practicing’ that took place.

The line to board the ship finally begins moving a little faster, jostling Michael from the memory. Shaking his head to clear it, Michael tries to focus on the here and now. He supposes his character should be excited, having been chosen for this exclusive cruise. Fortunately, that emotion won’t need any forcing. Michael _is_ excited. He is about to take down the head of one of the biggest crime families in the United States. This is exactly the type of mission his team trains for. This is exactly the kind of good he wants to accomplish with his work.

“Great,” mutters Fisk. “You’ve finally remembered that we’re about to do something dangerous and ridiculous.”

They're a few people back from the start of the line when the commotion starts. "My bracelet was stolen!" A woman screeches. "My husband and I BOTH deserve to be on this cruise!"

Fisk and Michael exchange glances. Michael hadn't considered the people Fisk stole braceles from. Fisk apparently hadn't either, judging by the frustrated look on his face. He immediately says, "We should've had Molly try this bit," in his bitchiest voice. Then, in a mockery of the woman's voice, "'My bracelet was stolen'."

Michael forces a laugh, and then the woman is quieted and taken aside, allowing the line to move again.

They check-in, they get scanned, they listen to the safety procedures. All around them couples swarm, laughing and hanging over each other as if the bar had already opened. Michael can’t imagine draping himself over Fisk in the same way without Fisk elbowing him in the gut, so he settles for an arm over the other man’s shoulders and leaves it at that.

After the ship safety rules are the alcohol safety rules, which don’t seem to be all that safe, really. They are all adults, Michael supposes, but simply telling them to drink responsibly isn’t likely to save anyone from alcohol poisoning or tripping off their balcony. Then they are shuttled to a large open room that Michael assumes will be a fancy dining area once the people are cleared out and the tables are brought in. A man walks out on a stage at one end and picks up a microphone, near enough that Michael can recognize him.

As usual, Tony Rose looks immaculate, but casual. He’s wearing sandals below his khaki suit pants, which is almost enough to distract Michael from the welcome speech. It's just so comical.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all. So glad to have you all here with us. What a handsome group of couples!” A cheer rises from the crowd. “My wife was just commenting on what attractive friends we have. She wanted to be here to greet you with me, but the excitement of the day has made her a bit ill. Not to worry, we’ll all have plenty of time to interact!”

“How much you want to bet the wife is already too boozed up to leave her suite?” whispers Fisk.

“Maybe she dislikes open water as much as you do.”

Fisk huffs disbelievingly.

“Have you spotted any of the whales yet?” Michael adds. "You know Molly wants us to get pictures of as many as possible."

Judith, in her infinite wisdom and pathological need to make Fisk's life at least mildly miserable, decided that the code names for the mission would be, yep, cetaceans.

"Just a bottlenose, dear," says Fisk, nodding to where Jon Dalton, a lawyer on their suspect list, is trying to slip unnoticed through the crowds. "Now hush, I'm trying to here Tony's little speech."

The room is lavish, especially for Michael’s standards. He is more accustomed to backwater motels and rinky-dink apartments. It’s rare he gets to experience silk sheets, piles of pillows, and plush carpet, just to name a few of the perks. The quality of the room only distracts him for a moment though, and he opens his mouth to inform Fisk he noticed Dalton sneaking off during the welcome speech. He gets as far as, “That bottlenose dolphin sure seemed in a hurry–” and is promptly cut off when Fisk launches himself at Michael. They’re kissing in an instant, Michael’s mouth half open and Fisk’s nose bumping his own.

He tries to pull back, but Fisk presses in firmly, winding an arm around the back of his neck to make separating even more difficult. When he does break them apart, it’s only to say, just a touch louder than necessary, “I thought we were never going to be alone, Nick.”

The emphasis on the code name does not escape Michael, who is still confused but willing to play along when he gets a look at Fisk’s face. If expressions could speak, this one would be shouting, “danger, Will Robinson, danger!” loud enough to disturb their neighbors.

And if playing along means he gets to gather Fisk up and kiss him more, then he’s not exactly going to complain.

If he wasn’t on the job, this would all be terribly distracting. As it is, Michael’s mind is so busy running through scenarios in which Fisk can safely tell him what’s going on, that he’s hardly able to concentrate on where he’s placing his hands. He ends up having to snap them back from where they had been slipping dangerously low on his partner’s back when Fisk’s breath hitches loudly.

“Nick,” rasps Fisk, rather sharply. His fingers are digging harshly into Michael’s neck. “Let’s clean up, yeah? All this salt air is making me feel grimy.”

This actually sounds quite natural coming from Fisk’s mouth, considering he would rather been cooped up in the secluded corner of a dingy library than laid out on the beach, where salt, sand, and sun are free to accost his skin all at once. Michael, who desperately needs a new task for his hands, offers brightly to start the water running.

Only once he’s started the spray does Fisk sidle up to his side, shedding his shirt as he does, and murmur, “Camera in the front room. Bet there’s one in here as well.”

“Audio?”

“Seems likely.”

It’s not surprising, really. Honestly, they probably should have planned for it, but they were too busy worrying about securing a separate room for communications. Dropping a kiss on Michael’s shoulder, Fisk rises and sheds the rest of his clothes quickly, as though any lingering on his part will give the game away. It’s becoming very apparent that Fisk was never in need of practice for this mission at all. He clearly knows how to put on a show. No wonder he acted so strangely when Michael begged for a kiss before they donned their fake identities; Fisk didn’t need to prepare himself.

Michael, though, is a nervous wreck underneath his professional false identity by the time he and Fisk are both stripped down. He's seen Fisk without clothes before, he's seen all of his teammates in varying states of undress, there's little room for privacy or embarrassment on a team like theirs. But there's a difference between this and a decontamination shower.

"Ugh," Fisk says, as he steps under the spray. "I hate hotels. They never clean them quite right. I'm gonna have to clean everything in here."

It's an entirely normal thing for Fisk to say – he has a classification system for hotels and motels, and on his scale, the ones they stay at range from "dirty, cheap, and seedy" to "don't shine a black light, cheap, and reasonably secure" – and it sets Michael at ease, at least somewhat.

"It's a lot nicer than our usual places," Michael says.

"Mm," agrees Fisk, "we're moving up in the world, babe. Pass me the soap, would you?"

Aside from a few casual, lingering touches as Fisk leans past him to get soap and washcloths, they barely touch until Fisk leans forward, hands skating light on Michael's hips, and says, "you could pretend you're not completely hating this," in a tone that would be better used for flirtatious words.

Michael narrows his eyes. "Need any help washing your back, dear?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Fisk says.

It's strange, how familiar it is to run a sponge down Fisk's skin. Of course, Michael's used to slightly scratchy gauze sponges and the smell of antiseptic and the sound of Fisk's bitching about his latest injury and the fact that the team really needs a proper medic, not… "Is this coconut?" he asks.

Fisk's voice is strange when he says, "Pina colada scented, I think."

"It's nice."

"Good lather."

"It's an actual sea sponge, I think," says Michael. "Very classy."

Fisk steps away from him suddenly. "Babe," he says, "I think I'm clean."

"Oh," Michael says, "right."

"Can't keep your hands off me," Fisk says, as he leans out of the shower to dry his face on a hand towel.

Michael squints at Fisk's slightly red eyes. "Did you get shampoo in your eyes?"

"I'm surprised you haven't, with your wild mop. Come on, get under the spray, I want to get dinner. Seafood sounds so good right now."

For some reason, the idea of a romantic dinner with Fisk is far more daunting than showering with him.


End file.
